


To be a rose

by RatTale



Series: Barnett collection [2]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: A little sappy, Affairs, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Bennett, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Self-Doubt, Uncertainty, Worried P. T. Barnum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-01-24 21:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: They had yet to define it. To put any sort of word to it. Affair or just sex. Mostly their forays were quick affairs, desperate and fast, Barnum usually energetic and smiling by the end of it.  The pathetic truth was, Bennett wanted what little Barnum would give - even if it meant nothing.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum & James Gordon Bennett, P.T. Barnum/James Gordon Bennett
Series: Barnett collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538755
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've split this story up as I feel the first two chapters and the rest of the story are so different they do deserve to be separate. I'm cleaning them up as I update, so there might be one or two changes, but nothing major. Thanks for reading! :)

In the following week or so they would see each other three more times. Behind the theatre, at another function, and once in an alley. Bennett still had no idea how to feel about that one – his skin still crawled at the very thought of it. But he knew he didn’t want to give up whatever this was. Barnum’s bright sun was completely consuming him - even if he wanted he wouldn't be able to pull away.

They had yet to define it. To put any sort of word to it. Affair or just sex. They had so little time to speak, to talk about whatever this was. Mostly their forays were quick affairs, desperate and fast, Barnum usually energetic and smiling by the end of it. It made the conclusion easy to make that this was perhaps nothing more than the sharing of a warm body. To be with the male physique without having to go to a brothel. If it stung when he thought about it – and it did – he made no mention or sign of it. The pathetic truth was, Bennett wanted what little Barnum would give.

He would be tossed aside, eventually. Which is why he tried to keep his heart out of the damned affair. But as Barnum nipped and sucked his way down his throat for the fourth time in ten days, Bennett knew that would simply be impossible.

His heart _ached_ for the man. For his brightness, his laughter, his presence his smirk and smiles. He wanted to trace his spine with his tongue, he wanted to be filled by him a million times over. But mostly he wanted to lounge in bed, hold him close and simply feel him. 

They were in the restroom of a bar. Safe in one of the cubicles, but they had to keep quiet. A wayward hand gripped his rear, the other tight around his cock. The thought of Barnum finally taking him fully had him throwing his head back with a tight gasp, spilling over Barnum’s hand. He had just enough sense left to kiss the man softly, and then reciprocate. Barnum smiled and eagerly fell back against the wall, spreading his legs. He wondered if Barnum thought of these things. If his soft kisses and gentle touches were only there for Bennett's benefit, and not a true need to actually touch and hold him.

Bennett had to kiss him hard to stop Barnum from crying out and giving them away. Bennett smiled into the kiss, and then pressed his face into his shoulder. For as long as this lasted, he would enjoy it.

It was a long walk home tonight. Reporting had its downsides. Working late into the night to finish the damned paper being one of them. Meeting Barnum at the bar had been both a bane and welcome. He was completely relaxed and content, but he’d missed the last taxi’s for the evening. Finding one now would be nigh impossible.

But they had a solid story for their front page. That was always worth the effort.

“Good evening, sir.”

Bennett spared only a brief glance in the direction of the voice. A tall, scrawny man leaned against a wall with a smile that promised the very opposite of a ‘good’ evening. His own hand trailed up and closer to his pistol. _That_ had surprised Barnum. Their second encounter behind the theatre had been during his working hours. And as Barnum had slid his down his chest towards his hip he had reeled back upon coming into contact with a gun just under his jacket.

Bennett had barely managed to stop from laughing at the expression. Explaining around a suppressed smile that he had to keep himself safe when he was working. Part of the job.

This for some reason, had spurred Barnum into kissing him senseless, working fervently to bring them both to a wild completion under his hands. Their cocks pressed together, Barnum almost desperate and frenzied. The memory still made him tingle.

Right now, he had to get home, and with a little luck and some gun-persuasion he could hopefully slide past and avoid the altercation altogether. So he unclipped his gun and held a hand over the holster, ready should the man try anything. The smile was kept in place, which worried Bennett but he kept walking.

“You shouldn’t be out walking, sir” The voice curled up from the shadows behind him, the surprise barely settled when a sudden blow slammed into his head. Bennett hit the wet pavement on his knees, hands grazed and stinging. The first kick hit him in the stomach made him gasp, the second in his face sent his glasses flying. He collapsed under a firm boot to his back. The blows came too sudden, too consistent for him to grab his gun, to move, to do anything!

His ribs cracked under a boot, punctuated by laughter. Another slammed down on his left hand, fracturing the wrist. He did _not_ scream, he would not scream! If he died, so be it, but he would face it with fury, not fear! If he could just reach his gun...

A wild call ripped through the alley, and for a brief moment his attackers paused. “What was that?”

“How the fuck should I-”

_S__omething_ slammed into the them. It howled and snarled, flailing its arms in wild directions. Bennett rolled onto his knees, taking hard quick gasps to bring himself under control. Everything _hurt_.

He quickly patted the ground. His hands curled over the fine metal and he slipped the cracked spectacles back into place just as one man screamed in agony. He staggered away from Bennett’s angry saviour, back to his posse, gripping his arm close to his chest. The three shared a quick glance before bolting. Bennett snarled and hoisted himself up.

“Mr. Bennett you shouldn’t be mov– “

Ignoring the worried voice, Bennett ripped out his gun took aim and fired. The bullet hit its mark. One assailant crumpled in pain, gripping his leg which was now shattered at the knee. Still in pain, so much fucking _pain_, Bennett limped to the wailing form, holding his gun tight he levelled it at his head. “_Who_ sent you?”

“No one! We were just- “

The second bullet hit his shoulder, another scream tore through the alley “I own the paper, lad. Your death won’t see the light of day. And if I decide it, you won’t ever have existed in this city.” He cocked his revolver, “Now, _who_ _sent_ _you_?”

“Goldman!” he yelled, voice raw and tearing with fear, “He sent us! Told us ta shut you up! Ta make sure you made front page news instead of him!”

“Thank you.” And flipping the gun, he cracked the back of it over his head, knocking him out. Taking one hard haggard breath, Bennett staggered to the side, his legs giving out.

Two hands grabbed him around the shoulders.

Bennett didn’t have to look around to know who it was, the furry hands were a good indication of his saviour. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

Dog Boy’s hands tightened briefly over his shoulder, “You know my name?" he paused, "My real name?”

“Of course. I’m a reporter, that is what we do. We get information.” He pulled away to lean instead against the wall. Turning to look at him in the small pool of light from the lamp. “You were born in Michigan, where you lived with your mother Mrs. Amelia Jacobs on a farm for almost twenty years before coming to the city to get away from the ridicule.” He closed his eyes, breathing heavily around the pain, “Despite what Barnum might tell people, you are not the bastard child of a mad woman and a wild dog.’” He swallowed, “You’re just a man, with an unfortunate skin condition.”

Even in full light it was always difficult to read Jacobs’ expression. And although Bennett would be too proud to ever admit it, there was a certain element of danger around him that always made him wary. Bennett cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence, “Well, I thank you again, Mr. Jacobs. I shall have to repay you somehow.” He pushed away from the wall. He staggered a little, his legs still shaking from adrenaline and pain, and turned towards home.

His arm was grabbed promptly flung over a hairy head to settle on strong shoulders. Bennett tried to pull away, “Mr. Jacobs I’m fin-“

“Which way is home?”

Too damned tired to argue, he muttered the address and let the man drag him the last two blocks. By the time they got to his apartment, Bennett was just about to pass out from the pain. Damn, he should perhaps rather have gone to hospital. He might have internal problems. Shit.

When they stumbled into the luxury apartment, (Bennett cursing up a storm and Dog Boy barely hanging on him) they’d barely made it to the sitting room when Carson in a nightshirt, gown and slippers came into the room with a lamp. His face contorted with worry. “Master Bennett? What has happened?”

“I’m fine!” he all but snapped, tired of the damned fussing, “Just get me to the couch.”

Dog Boy did so without a word, easing him down with some care. Bennett was quite surprised by the control and strength he had - the hair hid far more than his skin. With Bennett settled, Carson came to kneel before him, running a quick hand over his wrist, shoulders and ribs. When Bennett winced at most of his touches, he stood. “I shall call on Doctor Farley. Please remain seated.”

Carson, grabbing only his coat and hat, disappeared out the door with barely a nod at Dog Boy. He could feel the Carson's worry, it was palpable and thick in the air and a stab of shame cut through him. He hated worrying Carson. The man was as much his friend as he was in his service, and he knew how hard it was for him. He sighed when the door closed, sinking into the couch, grateful to be off his feet. But after a moment he turned to Dog Boy. He stood frozen and stiff, as he wanted to bolt. With another hefty sigh, Bennett said; “I thank you again, Mr. Jacobs. Please let me know if there is anything I can – “

“Find my mother.”

Bennett stared at him, “What?”

Dog boy shuffled, looking down at his feet briefly, “Tried contacting her at the farm. No response. Don’t know where she is.” He swallowed, “I wanna find her. You find things.”

Even in good light it was difficult to read the man’s expression. But at that moment the only emotion he could ascribe to that face was desperation and a touch of hope. Bennett’s cynicism had never quite smothered his heart’s need to help people. So he nodded, “Of course, I will see what I can find out for you.”

A smile played briefly over his lips and with only a final sharp nod, Dog Boy left. What a strange young man, and what a horrible hand life had dealt him. But it was surprising to see how strong the man had turned out, and yet how soft. A boy looking for his mother. It was almost too sweet to his taste but he'd never been more grateful. He knew without a doubt, if Dog Boy had not shown up he would now be dead. Goldman, that absolute bastard, he would _nail_ the fucker and he would make his life _hell_. His thoughts suddenly turned to Barnum, and he found himself wishing he was here.

By the time Carson returned with the Doctor, Bennett was fast asleep.

* * *

His couch enveloped him in its leather and warmth, easing some of the pain that coursed through his body. Bennett tried not to think about it, barely lifting his head when Carson said something about needing to go out for a few hours. He didn’t care. He just wanted to stay prone on his couch. His comfort and safety. These days he rarely used his bedroom anymore. It only served to remind him of his loneliness. 

His journalists and police were hot on the trail of Goldman’s men – they would be found, and Bennett would have the pleasure of publishing the scathing article. It was the only thought that kept him from falling into complete misery. He hated this. Being so bloody useless! He hated lying prone, having nothing to do but read. But most of all, most of all, he hated being so damned alone. Moments like these made him remember of how isolated he'd been as a child. In a great big mansion with loveless parents and a father who was always too busy to care. He remembered sick days sat alone in a large bedroom with a maid to bring him food or drink. He remembered awards given to him on stage with no parent or support in sight in the cheering audience.

Bennett always remembered the empty chairs the most.

The knock on the door at one that afternoon made him cringe into the soft leather. He didn’t want visitors, he didn’t want anyone in here right now. He didn’t care if the damned Newspaper had burned down. He just wanted to sleep.

“Master Bennett,”

Carson’s voice, usually such a comforting thing, cut through him like sharp needles, “Tell them to leave.”

“It is Mr. Barnum, sir.”

In an instant the animosity washed away by rising shock. He even managed to open his eyes, and pull his pained body into a sitting position. “What?”

“He said that he ‘needs to see you’ sir.”

Needs to see me. His heart stuttered. “Show him in.” he paused, “And you can leave us, Carson.”

The pause and raised eyebrow did not go unnoticed. “As you wish, sir.”

In the few moments after he left, Bennett sat upright with some effort. His entire body aching and pinched from pain. A warm feeling of contentment cascaded around him to envelop him in a growing happiness. He had come to see him – he had no idea what it meant, but the thought made him obscenely happy, banishing the darker thoughts he'd accumulated during the day. When Barnum walked in, his heart didn’t stop, but it was a damn near thing.

“Bennett.” The smile was beautiful and Barnum quickly grabbed a nearby chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he said, “Perhaps a little bluer than I’d prefer, but fine over all.”

The smile turned strained, and Barnum reached out to take his hand in his own, making Bennett’s throat go dry, “When I heard, I became quite worried.” His fingers traced a soft pattern over his hand. “Dog boy told me you had a doctor, that you should be fine. But I had to see you for myself.”

Again his throat tightened, to the point he was certain he would not be able to breathe. This was a dream, a foolish fantasy he was living in, but what a wonderful one he’d chosen to have. It took a few swallows for the tension to ease enough for him to speak. “I am grateful he was there, it might have turned far uglier if he hadn’t shown up.”

Instantly the hand tightened, the expression pinching for a moment. But before Bennett could comment, Barnum pulled away to reach into his coat. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

Barnum’s smile was downright mischievous, Bennett half expected something illicit, something obscene. Something which would make him yearn.

He pulled out a rose.

“A lovely florist gave this to me,” he said, eyes fixed on the beautiful red bloom, “She said it was meant to be given to the one who needed it most, and she sensed there was such a person in my life.” His gaze locked with Bennett’s and Bennett felt his throat go tight again. “I hope it makes you feel better.”

He knew for a fact there were no florists in this area. There was a rose bush across the street. They were all in full bloom. It was a fabrication. Spun to make something mundane, such as a hastily plucked rose seem brilliant and special. The true act of a conman. But a story fabricated for him. To make him feel special.

He took it. Careful of the thorns still protruding from the stem. His throat was now so tight he couldn't speak. Not a sound or whisper could be pulled out of it. He only managed a soft nod, hoping it would be enough.

Barnum leaned closer, he was just a breath away, “I am fairly certain this isn’t your first rose.”

_Yes, it is. It’s my first everything._ When Barnum kissed him, he barely responded, still wrapped in surprise and delight. Quickly he pursed his lips, welcoming the wonderful kiss mixed with the scent of a fresh rose. As Barnum pulled away, Bennett couldn’t help but peck a quick kiss no his lips again, his throat finally relaxing enough to let out a soft “Thank you.”

Barnum’s smile made him warm, “You’re welcome.” He sat back, “I can’t stay long, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

_But you came, that’s enough_. He thought even as Barnum stood to retrieve his things. But he paused at the door to quickly walk back, lean over the couch and give Bennett another lovely kiss. “I wish I could stay. Wish I could have you on this couch.”

His throat went dry, tight he would not be able to speak. Barnum kissed him once more before finally leaving.

Bennett’s eyes would not leave the rose. Near perfect, not a blemish or mark on any petal, not even the stem. His first ever flower, not a bouquet, but a single perfect rose. He pictured how Barnum hadn’t hastily picked it. But instead he’d scoured through the flowers looking for the perfect one just for Bennett. How he’d picked it especially. Somehow, it was a more marvellous thought than Barnum’s story.

An hour later Carson returned, loaded with several bags. After placing the bags in the kitchen, he returned with a slender vase filled with water. He plucked the rose from Bennett’s loose grip and plopped it in. It sparkled in the crystal.

“May I speak frank, sir?” asked Carson, placing the rose upon the coffee table.

“Always.”

His butler, friend and confidant stood back. Eyeing the rose with far more uncertainty. “I do believe, given Mr. Barnum’s track record, that there is a very good chance he is using you.”

The thought had occurred to him. When Barnum kissed him, when he smiled that bright conman grin, when he spotted him with his wife and children, smiling and as happy as can be. The possibility of being used was far greater than Barnum actually caring about him in any capacity.

“I know,” he said, eyes glued to the rose, “But I have yet to figure out for what. When I do, I’ll cut ties.”

“Of course, sir.”

Carson didn’t believe him. Bennett couldn’t blame him.

The night hour ticked away into the morning. Bennett couldn’t sleep. He watched the hands on the clock slowly tick their way around, hour after hour falling away. His heart kept pounding, his thoughts consumed by Barnum. By the rose.

It still stood on the coffee table. Just barely visible in the dark, against the light from the moon.

Bennett swallowed, his hands tightening under the warm blanket. Whenever he wanted to say something that came directly from the heart, his wretched voice closed up so tightly he wondered if he would ever be able to breathe again. There was so much he wanted to say to Barnum, to ask, to confirm, to know about him.

He closed his eyes tight. Perhaps it was a good thing. Preventing him from pushing into a boundary he was certain was there. If he pushed, he might push him away.

Still the words sat, pressed to his heart, begging to be said, despite a throat that had closed up completely. _Call me by my first name_, _hug me at least once a day, let me hold you a little longer before you leave_. _You’re beautiful when you smile, you make me happy, I miss you when you’re gone_.

Bennett sat up with some effort. He would not sleep, not until they had been spoken. Somehow dealt with. And there was only one way he could think of. With some painful effort Bennett pushed himself up and made his way to his desk, hissing through grit teeth at every step. He sat down heavily, panting and pained. Collecting himself he lit a candle and pulled closer a pot of ink and a sheave of papers. Picking up his pen, he paused only a moment gathering his thoughts before starting with an eloquent; "Dear Phineas..." and then let the words flow.

When the first light peaked over the city he was finished. He sat back looking at the words that sat heavy yet warm on the pages. A long, detailed letter to Barnum. One that the man would never see, would ever know of, but one that both eased and squeezed Bennett’s heart equally.

He should burn it. It was incriminating and dangerous to keep around.

The sun spilled over his desk casting it in a warm glow.

He folded the letter, slid it into an envelope and hid it in his drawer. Later, he didn’t have the energy to light a fire right now. He purposely ignored the candle, almost burnt out.


	2. Chapter 2

The good doctor booked him off for three weeks. His ribs were fractured not broken. It could have been much, much worse but irked him to be on bed rest. His wrist was another thing entirely. Broken and subsequently put in a splint, it became a fierce hindrance in his day to day, making him bitter and short-tempered.

Poor Carson bore the brunt of Bennett’s fury and frustration. But the man’s patience could withstand any tantrum, and he did so with that same grace he always handled everything with. Bennett didn’t know if he was grateful or irked by the man’s calm. However, Bennett did find moments of cool respite in Barnum.

He didn’t visit, instead in the span of two weeks he sent Bennett a box of chocolates (_to keep you sane_), a book (_to keep you busy_), and a new tie (_to take off when I see you again_).

It kept him sane, more than sane if he were honest. Carson made no comment on the gifts. His friend had been such a constant in his life the man knew just about everything about him. Being courted by a married man should warrant at most a raised eyebrow. Which was exactly the reaction he got.

But the greatest prize of all was still the rose. Every day it brought a warmth to him he could not put words to, even as it started to wilt. Carson took it and dried it out, and moved it to his desk, where Bennett would often find himself staring at it.

It was during the third week, a day or so after his splint was removed, when Barnum finally came to call.

“Mr. Barnum to see you, sir.”

Bennett looked up from his work. His heart stuttering at the sight of him in a beautiful maroon jacket. The man could wear a suit made out of printing paper and still look dashing. “Thank you, Carson.” He collected his papers on the coffee table into a neat pile, and using the temporary cane, hoisted himself to a standing position, “You may leave us for a few hours, if you will.”

“Very good, sir,” Carson bowed, “I shall be back at five to start dinner.”

Five, it gave them over an hour. His heart rate picked up, so much could happen in an hour. By Barnum’s intense expression, he was thinking the exact same thing. The moment the door closed, Barnum came around the couch to capture Bennett’s face in his hands and then kiss him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his hand sliding up to touch his face in turn. Barnum pulled away, “I’ve missed this,” and dove back in for another kiss. Bennett was backed up until his knees touched the edge of the couch. Before he could do respond, Barnum lowered him down. He lay stretched out on his back, watching as Barnum swung a leg over to straddle his waist. This… this was happening. A bit fast, a bit sudden, but he didn’t have the heart to stop him – he wanted this. His hands gripped the strong hips moments before their cocks pressed against each other. Hot and hard.

Bennett yanked him in for another sloppy kiss. Barnum’s hands quickly started to unbutton his vest and shirt. A hot flush of arousal burned through him. They’d never done this. Never undressed and _seen_ each other before. Their quick meetings never allowed for it.

Yet here they were. Barnum trailing sloppy kisses down his throat, each piece of skin kissed and worshipped as it was revealed button for button. A cry got stuck somewhere in his throat and Bennett gripped his hair, desperately trying to convey the effect it was having on him. By the time he reached the last button, pressing a quick kiss to the line just above his trousers, Bennett was breathless and panting.

Barnum slid both hands up over his stomach to settle over his pecks. Both thumbs pressing into his nipples, making tight small circles. Another cry tightened up his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“Lovely.” Barnum hands slid up to shoulders, “Sit up.”

It took a little effort, but Bennett managed, pressing his forehead into Barnum’s shoulder allowing him to slide off his shirt, vest and suspenders. Barnum hissed, his hands running over the bruises on his back and sides. “Oh Bennett. They got you good.”

He huffed a small laugh, “Not good enough. I’m still here.”

A light peck to his temple was his only answer. Which trailed down his cheek to his jaw bone, nipping at his beard and back to his lips. A blush crept over him, a sudden wash of shame and his arms pulled up to his chest. Barnum was built lithe and strong from all that dancing. Bennett was scrawny, pale, and bruised. How could he even compare?

Barnum’s hands touched his wrists, but Bennett kept his eyes down, his hands pulling closer to his body. “Bennett” he whispered, “Look at me.”

Bennett struggled with himself for a moment, he felt too vulnerable, too open. Barnum would see everything. His insecurity, his uncertainty, and all the devotion he had for a man who could never give it back to him. He had a wife, he had children, he was happy. _Dear God what are you doing_? A hand touched his cheek and slowly tilted his face up. Barnum was smiling, his face kind and sweet. “You are beautiful.”

_This isn’t real. This is a scam, a means to an end. You are going to get hurt._

Bennett leaned in and kissed him again, unable to let go of what little he still had. He allowed Barnum to push him back down into the couch, to pin his arms above his head.

“I’m going to ravish you.”

Bennett’s breath hitched.

“Kiss every part of you, then take you until you scream my name.”

_Please! Yes! Just do it!_

Barnum’s hand trailed down to his trousers “God I–“

Three sharp knocks rang through the apartment.

They both froze. Eyes wide.

“Mr. Bennett!”

Larson, from the paper. Shit!

Bennett shoved Barnum off. The man staggered back and up, almost tripping over the coffee table. “Hide!” Bennett hissed through grit teeth as he quickly pulled his shirt and back on.

Another three knocks, “Mr. Bennett?”

“Coming!” he snapped. Turning around he spotted Barnum slip into the kitchen. Good enough. He grabbed his cane, and headed for the door, running a quick hand through his hair. Taking one breath to compose himself he ripped open the door and came face to face with a fresh-faced young journalist. “Larson. How may I help you?”

“The final pages for the entertainment section, sir. You said you wanted to see them before we go to press.”

Curse his damned work ethic. “Of course. I’ll have them ready by six. Thank you.”

Larson nodded, “Right sir. See you then!” and the lad bounded down the hallway. Bennett shut the door and sighed. Good lad, absolute shit timing. A small movement pulled his attention to Barnum who came walking towards him, a sort of sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry.”

Bennet frowned, “What for?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have our, err, relations during work hours?” Barnum scratched his head, grin now turning a little more mischievous than sheepish.

“Maybe.” He paused, eyeing him up and down, noting his disarrayed state, his obvious arousal his dishevelled hair. “Or rather, we shouldn’t have _complicated_ relations during working hours.”

Barnum frowned, but Bennett quietly pulled him to the couch, pushing him into the soft seat. The confusion melted away when Bennett knelt down to unzip his fly.

Twenty minutes later found them sitting side by side. Barnum still breathing hard, with Bennett next to him, his head tilted back, still reeling from the orgasm. Not entirely what they’d wanted, but for the time being Bennett couldn’t be happier. The moment was warm, contented, perfect.

The comforting silent was broken when Barnum spoke, “I’m leaving for London tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been granted an audience with the Queen of England.”

Bennett rolled his eyes. “Of _course_, you have.”

“I have! Carlyle organized it for us. That lad is brilliant to a fault, the whole troupe is heading out.”

“What is the world coming to?”

Barnum laughed, “I’m certain she will enjoy them. Despite her… loftiness, the Queen was a girl once. And she’s still young, her wonder of the world might still be in good shape.”

Wonder.

Yes, Bennett thought. Wonder is what you give. Through your deception and lies, there is a wondrous element that pulls people to your world. Just for a short time to believe in Dog-people, giants, strong men and bearded woman. Your show, it speaks to the inner child in us all. One that sadly died within me a _very_ long time ago. “For your sake I hope she does.”

“I’ll be gone for over a month, Bennett.”

The words hung between them. Coated thick with regret. With something more Bennett was terrified to identify – to actually believe was there. He won’t see him for a month. Bereft of kisses, touches and sweet words for a whole month. His throat closed up again. Tentatively he reached out to Barnum’s hand, his fingers brushing the palm. Barnum instantly laced their fingers, gripping his hand tightly.

_I will miss you,_ Bennett wished he could say it, wished his throat wasn’t so tight he could barely breathe. He rested his head on Barnum’s shoulder, and tried to convey it all through that alone.

* * *

The following morning Bennett took a Hansom to the theatre. He had the information Mr. Jacobs asked, heading to the theatre had nothing to do with Barnum. But of course, should they run into one another who was he to complain?

Upon asking after Dog Boy, he was taken to the back of the building where the oddities seemed to have made their living area. The tension felt palpable. They didn’t want him here, and Bennett certainly did not wish to be here.

Such was life.

He knocked on the rickety door, halfway expecting it to fall apart under the onslaught. It was ripped open after a moment. The snarl fading to a softer look when he recognised his visitor. “Mr. Bennett.”

“Mr. Jacobs.” He noted the man wince, eyes instantly shifting from side to side. “I have the information you asked for.”

Dog Boy took the little piece of paper, his eyes focused intently on the address, he was holding it like on might grip a death sentence. Taking some pity on the man, Bennett asked, “Is everything all right?”

His head snapped up, the eyes intense and fierce. Nestled under the thick fur it looked downright feral. Bennett tried not to swallow. A hairy hand reached out and took him by the arm, leading them away from the people, the bustle and commotion to a hidden corner at the back of the theatre. Bennett couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d been led somewhere and to what it led.

The blush was impossible to fight down.

“I want to write a letter,” Mr. Jacobs said, and Bennett couldn’t see him as Dog Boy at that moment. With his shoulders hunched, and eyes focused on the folded scrap, he really was just a boy. “But don’t know how.”

“You can’t write?”

“Can write,” he said, angry, “Just… don’t have the words.”

“I see.” Bennett said. An odd silence settled about them. Twenty feet away the performers were preparing for the first show. Dog Boy was staring at the paper intently, an aura of fear about him. Bennett shifted. “What do you wish to say?”

“That I miss her, that I love her,” he frowned, “That I’m sorry.”

It took some effort not to simply leave. Honestly the issue was dealt with, he should be heading back to the office to get the evening edition ready, and now he was stuck trying to guide a hairy-man into reconciling with his mother.

Then again, said hairy-man had most likely saved his life.

Bennett bit down, “Mister… Lad,” he hesitated, “Tell her exactly that. Tell her how much she means, how dear she is, how much you miss her for all the little things she used to do. Tell her that you appreciated her, that you’re sorry if you ever made her doubt that you cared, and that no matter what she replies in turn, you will still love her.”

The words rang through him. Echoing past his throat to resonate with his heart. Bennett swallowed. The irony was not lost on him. The same bitter awful damned situation was what he found himself in. He had the words, they were there, burned onto pages he would never be able to destroy. That he would never share, but words he still quietly hoped Barnum would be able to sense somehow.

Dog Boy’s eyes did not hold the same wildness to them, now they shone only the bright shining tears of a boy lost in a world that had scorned him, who missed his mother so very much. Bennett touched his shoulder, “Just be honest. No glamour, no showmanship, just honesty. The truth is an amazing thing.”

He only nodded and after a quick touch to Bennett’s shoulder, the lad walked away, shoulders hunched and hands gripping the little scrap like a lifeline. Bennett watched him go, hoping quietly the two would reconcile. He might not agree how Barnum used these people, but he could still see them for what they were; broken, exiled and feared. They need support and love to survive.

_The truth is an amazing thing._ He thought of his own predicament, his own letter sitting in his desk drawer. He smiled faintly, not always.

He replaced his hat and started back to the doors, glancing up to look at the top platform. Carlyle and Barnum were talking, Barnum bright and laughing. He watched him touch Carlyle, squeeze his shoulder and move in close. It sent a sudden shot of ice down his spine, making his step falter.

When he looked back Barnum and Carlyle were walking away, Barnum laughing with his partner, his hand still on his shoulder, leaning in much too close that Bennett felt was proper.

“_There is a very good chance you __he is using you_.”

He watched them disappear into the office.

_“That lad is brilliant to a fault.”_

The memory of the sentiment burned through him all the way to the office. It made his heart stutter, his hands tremble, but beyond that it allowed for a cool sort of acceptance to whisper through him. Bennett ignored the sudden explosion of emotion and headed up to his office. He had a lot of work to do.


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks trudged by, and as they did a sort of cool realisation dawned over him. Despite desperately wanting to be convinced otherwise, he had to accept that Barnum was using him.

He used the troupe’s oddities for his own benefit. He abused the bank to reach his goals. He used Phillip to reach the carriage class, and he used Bennett for invert sexual release. There was no other way. What else could there be? Every night Barnum went home to his wife and enjoyed her as much as he did Bennett. When Bennett ceased being interesting, when Barnum had gotten what he wanted, he would leave. And Bennett would have to repair whatever damage had been made.

Filtered pieces of news trickled through from London. Only rumours of a possible star coming to America. But nothing was concrete, nothing certain. By his estimate, Barnum would be returning soon.

He would only return on the fifth week, and by then Bennett’s goodwill had been sucked clean from his soul. His poor employees steered clear of him, lest they have their heads bitten off. Bennett didn’t enjoy being such a bastard, but it would pass along with the memory of Barnum and his kisses.

The painful truth was he’d fallen for Barnum’s con because he’d _wanted_ it to be true. He’d laughed at that thought, the perfect con, making a man believe he was getting what he’d always wanted.

One of his journalists brought him the news, eager and wide-eyed to tell his editor such a juicy piece of information.

The rumours were right. Barnum, had brought someone with him.

* * *

Jenny Lind. The sweetest nightingale in the world. Her name was spoken in hushed excited whispers where ever he went. Her upcoming concert causing quite a stir. He had of course heard of her. She was magnificent, the epitome of high-class entertainment. Everything he wanted in a performer; talented, modest and of course good class.

To see her perform would be magnificent, and Barnum had brought her to America. He hadn’t believed he could still feel this amount of elation for a single event. He received his invitation a week before the concert. Two tickets, and a friendly, cordial invite to come and see “The angel with the voice of a Nightingale.”

Bennett did _not_ resent the fact that Barnum had not delivered it personally.

The after party for the beautiful show was as expected. Posh men walking about making pained small talk with anyone willing to listen. Bennett kept to the shadows, watching. Her performance still hummed through him. Always a curious thing. Good music, no matter its origin would always affect him in a way he could not explain. Bennett felt it straight through his bones.

Through the crowds he spotted Barnum with his wife and Lind. The conversation seemed amicable. Friendly even. Lind interacted with the girls as kindly as she would with the queen. She treated everyone on the same footing. An angel indeed.

Barnum laughed at something, Lind giggling along and understanding dawned. Barnum was using her for something. He could see it. Even from a distance, his eyes never quite leaving her. His stance moving in a little closer than was entirely necessary. Oh dear, it appeared that Barnum’s newest conquest stood ready.

He had to leave. Had to before Barnum found him, and told him that to his face. He’d rather bare uncertainty than complete totality in this. For once, Bennett was running. He finished his wine and turned to the door.

“Mr. Bennett!” he halted half a moment too long. Barnum was on him a moment later. “I’m glad you could come in to enjoy the show. She is a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” he said, turning around to face him. The anger and hurt slicing up any good intentions to bits, leaving only the ugly bitterness he couldn’t quite hide. “She is remarkable.”

“Enough to bring joy to the most joyless of critics?”

The cold washed over him, burning his eyes. “And in the hands of a true purveyor of the arts, she could be something.”

The smile tightened, suddenly fierce. “Oh?”

“It is a shame, that she had to fall in with you. Prince of Humbug, when there are so many who could do her justice.”

Barnum chuckled, but it sounded cold, joyless, “You really are much better on the page, Mr. Bennett. As hard as that is to believe.” And he left before Bennett could say another word. Bennett watched him only return to his family, smiling and bright before leaving. Finally, the damned mess was over with. He didn’t have to worry about what Barnum wanted, he didn’t have to worry about getting caught. Didn’t have to feel guilty about hurting Mrs. Barnum and her two daughters.

He could sleep and let this whole thing melt into nothing.

When he reached home, he collapsed on the couch and lay awake for hours. His heart beating loud and fierce. His hands balled into fists. But he didn’t cry. He had no right to. It was never supposed to mean anything in any case.

He still had to press a hand under his glasses, halting the two tears threatening to spill despite his determination.

* * *

He woke to a hard knock. It took him a long moment to realise Carson wasn’t there that morning. The knocking persisted, and Bennett had to drag himself up with herculean effort. It was his day off, why couldn’t people just leave him alone when it was his day off?

He ripped opened the door and immediately wished he hadn’t. Barnum stood before him, his expression cold and fierce. “Can I come in?” he didn’t wait for an answer, just stormed in past Bennett. “We need to talk.”

“By all means,” Bennett said, voice droll and dry, “Make yourself at home. Would you like some tea?”

“Don’t start with that!” the tone made him pause, but only for a moment.

“I am being polite, _Mr_. Barnum. You’re the one charging into my home demanding to speak with me.”

Barnum fell still. His entire posture falling, becoming subdued, almost resentful in its entirety. “I don’t know why I expected anything different from you.”

Offering a beverage? The words were ready to be said, but Bennett refrained, sensing the rising tension in the room. “With what?” he politely left out ‘Mr. Barnum’, also sensing this would only aggravate him further.

“You, being the same snide, prideful asshole, you always are.” He laughed, “Even now, when I’m upset, you’re staring at me with that same blank face you always have. Like a God-dammed automaton.”

Bennett looked away, “Then you may leave. I believe you will find greater pleaser in Miss Lind’s company than you will in mine.” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter. He just wanted the man out of his home so he could sulk in peace. Why did he have to come here?

“What the devil, are you on about?”

“Your new conquest.” Bennett turned away to pour himself a stiff drink, “A beautiful songbird to enjoy at your leisure and of course replace your invert companion. But then,” he turned back around and took a large gulp, “You do so enjoy using people for your own gain. Whiskey?”

Surprising Barnum had become one of his favourite past times over the course of a few months. But standing here now under a gaze completely made up of shock and fury made his neck tingle from apprehension. When Barnum spoke, his voice shook from anger. “When have I ever given you a reason to think that I was using you?”

“What other possible reason could you have?” he shot back. “You are married Barnum, with children, a family. You have a life. What place would anyone have in that life other than a quick fuck?”

“And you made this assumption? With no other proof than my current marital status?”

Bennett advanced, suddenly angry, suddenly furious, “Of course I did. You never made any comment to discourage it. For God’s sake! The whole affair started in a coat closet and hasn’t progressed to anything more than quick forays in nooks and alleyways!”

“I visited you in your home!” he threw his arms wide open, gesturing around him, “Here I am! I’ve been here before, Bennett! Twice!” he advanced, Bennett held his ground craning his neck a little to look up into Barnum’s eyes which were burning, “I even sent you gifts!”

Bennett rolled his eyes, “And that is supposed to convince me? You are a con-artist. Out to get exactly what you want from whom you need it from! Your motivation for sending gifts or coming to visit was absolutely selfish! A ruse to keep me in your snare so you might finally bed me –!”

“Jeezus Bennett! I brought her in for you!” that same vile expression turned to him, cold and vicious.

The words clapped in the room, in the confused silence Bennett asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Lind!” Barnum yelled, ripping away to pace the room up and down. His next words were thrown out, pained and fierce, “I met her in London. I was captured by her beauty, her manner her voice, yes, all of it. But I saw in her an opportunity to impress _you_! I brought her in for _you_! I wanted you to experience her! To see that I could be more than you thought I – fuck!”

The words rang, piercing singing through him. Barnum had done this, had gone out of his way to impress him? The idea rocked him, punched him in the gut with such force it almost floored him. Every bit of uncertainty fell away. Barnum truly liked him? Maybe even…

A familiar tension settled about him. Bennett opened his mouth to speak, only to have his throat tighten in protest. No, not now, please, please not now!

“But dammit like you are, and I don’t know how I ever thought you’d be different, you sneered at me, insulted me! Never once acknowledging that I – damnit Bennett! I wanted your approval last night! But all I got was your damned scorn!”

I hadn’t known! I hadn’t realised, I was being an idiot! He desperately tried to force any sound from his throat. Any whisper a squeak, anything, but it remained stubbornly shut.

He laughed, bitter and cold, “But then, like you said, this -” he gestured between them, “never meant anything. It was just a con, a poor joke that went too far. And you were stupid enough to fall for it... to fall for my con.” His voice cracked and Bennett’s heart in turn did as well. “I don’t pretend to be anything less than I am, Bennett. But your own biased against me made you doubt my sincerity. And now I wonder if you ever felt anything for me.”

Yes! Yes! I did! I do! I was being an idiot! Bennett opened his mouth to speak, but again the tension tightened. Not even a whisper.

Barnum smiled, bitter and cold. “I believe I was more a fool than you,” The door was wrenched open, and Bennett rushed forwards. He had to stop him from leaving until he could speak. The second his hands touched Barnum the man recoiled, stepping away. And Bennett stood gaping, desperate to push even a single word out. “Barnum...” yes! Now please just let it flow, let it relax enough to continue –

“Good day to you, Mr. Bennett.” he replaced his hat and slid past, “I believe a tour with my new _conquest_ Miss Lind should be an excellent idea. We’ll see you in about a year.” and he slammed the door behind him.

Bennett spun, running the short distance to his desk, he ripped open the drawer, grabbed the letter and ran back out.

He clattered down the stairs, spotting Barnum only one stairwell beneath him he picked up the pace, cursing his voice for still being trapped. When he reached him, he grabbed him around the shoulder, only to have Barnum wrench away and keep walking. Undeterred, Bennett ran ahead of him, slamming both hands into his chest.

“Let go Bennett!” he snapped, making to push him away, but Bennett quickly held up the letter, stopping him in his tracks. “What’s this?”

“Read it...” his voice was tight, small and hoarse against the constriction. “...please...” Barnum frowned at him before plucking the letter out of his hands like it was some revolting spider, and shoving it in his coat pocket.

“I’ll think about it.” and he left, heading down the stairs and out the door. For a moment he watched him slide into the crowds, his heart suddenly ramming so hard in his chest he was almost certain it was about to rip through his ribs. He cursed his arrogance, he cursed his ego, he cursed his heart for falling for him in the first place.

He cursed his voice.

A few hours later Carson wound find him in the apartment on his couch sipping at his fifth whiskey. Carson would not ask, he would note the open drawer, the missing letter, his employer’s demeanour and would draw a conclusion.

Bennett had not the heart to tell him it was in fact so much worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to finish this one up. Thanks to everyone who read, left a comment or dropped a Kudo's. You are AWESOME!

A newspaper had an interesting way of rearranging one’s priorities. News has no consideration for your problems, if you were slacking it simply ran out from under you. Bennett loved this aspect of the newspaper, it forced him to focus, pushed aside all the darker problems he carried. It made the sting burn a little less.

One of his journalists offered to keep an eye on the tour. He had a few contacts in the entertainment industry, and Bennett was only too happy to let him keep their readers updated on the tour. He made a point of handing the editing of that page over to one of his sub-editors, if only to spare himself the painful reminder. Suggestions of possible forays behind closed doors only cut the wound deeper, and Bennett struggled to keep it from bleeding out every night.

At home when he was still wired from the day and almost too tired to sleep, he would wonder if Barnum ever read his letter. Or if he’d simply cast it aside.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more; the idea that Barnum had read it and didn’t care, or that he’d never bothered. Guilt overwhelmed him most nights, regret on others. But then, what had Barnum expected? How could he have thought that Bennett would even think he was serious when he was still married?

“_And you made this assumption? With no other proof than my current marital status_?”

The thoughts mulled and spurned within him, making him darker and darker until he was certain no light could find him again.

Then his entire world was turned upside down. Again.

The story broke just as he was heading out. The paper set and ready to print for the morning. His journalist came stumbling in, gleeful and haggard. “Barnum and Lind! We have them!”

No, was his first thought then the slow descent into misery when his journalist presented the picture. He gave the okay to stop the press and replace this story with their current front page. When his journalist ran out of the room, ecstatic to get a story on the front page, Bennett sagged into his chair.

From the picture he doubted Barnum actually instigated the kiss. His body language was all wrong. But then, it might just be Bennett being hopeful. He sneered, hopeful, wishful, dreamer – those were Barnum’s jobs.

With the story set to print, he took his coat and hat and headed home. From where, with a glass of wine in hand, he would watch the theatre go up in flames, and almost immediately head back to the _New York Herald_ to add another story to their already bursting paper.

So much here-say and stories filtered through their lines. Most of which were expanded and exaggerated to the point of disbelief. But a constant stream of ‘Carlyle injured’ and ‘Barnum saved him’ kept popping through and Bennett didn’t stop a moment. Leaving his shock in the dark along with his tragedy.

They ended up printing at three that morning. A short piece added about the fire with a promise to read more with the evening edition. Their paper still hit the street at seven that morning, and Bennett was there to watch their drivers rush for their deliveries.

When the first light skimmed over the houses, he found himself wandering out of the building and into the streets. Honestly, he was exhausted, his heart in tatters and his mind quite foggy. But he would not be able to rest. He bought a paper from a lad running by, and he noted the surrounding people, most with papers, speaking quickly and excitedly.

If Barnum didn’t hate him before, he sure as hell would now. Printing his scandal as front page news. Damn it all, the man must despise him. His feet carried him through the streets, almost on memory alone they guided him past the and straight to the scorched ruins of the Circus.

Where he found Barnum on the steps. He looked terrible, tired, worn and done-in. The urge to step closer, to offer comfort, a hand, a word was almost too much. But Bennett held back. They hadn’t said a word to each other since that dreadful day. Not a letter or a message. And now Bennett had splashed his humiliation all across the front page.

With a final sigh he turned and headed back to the office, his own courage failing him for the first time in his life.

* * *

The evening edition came and went, and Bennett went home with a heavy heart.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Carson,” he greeted, hanging up his hat and allowing his butler to remove his jacket, “What is for dinner?”

“Roast beef and mashed potatoes with a side of spinach,”

Bennett smiled, albeit softly, “In the mood for the classics?”

“Well, your guest seems the type to prefer the classics, sir.”

He looked at him, “Guest?” and stepped into the Livingroom only to freeze completely.

Barnum stood up from the couch, his smile soft, “Evening, Bennett.”

His throat went dry, his hands suddenly warm and he could barely swallow, let alone speak. The man was here, in his Livingroom, dressed in that striking maroon he looked so perfect in. He cleared his throat and managed a soft, “Barnum…”

“I’ll be in the kitchen, sir.” Carson disappeared through the door and shut it behind them, giving them some privacy.

A heavy silence settled about them. Bennett couldn’t think of a single thing to say, where to even start. And even if he did, he doubted he would be able to say it. Barnum cleared his throat, smiled and said finally said –

“I’m sorry.”

Barnum shut his mouth and Bennett quickly pushed on, “I’m sorry about the front page, I’m sorry about your Circus, I’m sorry about how I…” and his throat clamped up. He closed his eyes and turned away, heading for the window. Pressing his hands to his mouth he breathed, trying desperately to bring himself to any sort of calm state.

Just let me speak, just this once, just let me speak.  
  


“Sometimes your throat goes so tight, you’re afraid you’ll never be able to speak again.”

Bennett turned to him, but Barnum was looking at the floor. “And you wish you could. If only to tell me how much I mean to you. How happy I make you. How beautiful I am when I smile or when I laugh. You would ask me to hold you at least once a day. You would ask me to call you… James.”

Tears sprang to his eyes, they were his words, all written on that letter. Barnum finally smiled, “You yearn for my light, and you're only ever truly happy when I''m near. I turned you into a rose. One that blooms under my sunlight and only ever for me. But hopefully one that brightens my day.”

Throat tight and heart pounding, Bennett collapsed backwards into his chair. He pulled off his glasses and wiped at his eyes, unable to speak or say a single thing. A hand touched him and he looked quickly replacing his glasses to see a smiling Barnum kneeling before him.

“James…” and he shuddered, pressing closer letting their foreheads touch and the tension seep away, leaving only room for joy.

Barnum smiled, “You really are better on the page.” And he kissed him.

It felt like coming home. As perfect and wonderful as he remembered, but still cosy, soft and perfect. He pressed closer, sliding his hands over his shoulder, holding him through the dizziness, through ever wet open kiss. His heart beat like a drum, mad and furious, his breath hitched when Barnum caught his tongue between his teeth, sucking gently before releasing and sliding his own over his lips, taking a wonderful taste.

When they parted, he was breathing hard, his hands buried in his hair, he could barely focus through his glasses.

Barnum pecked him again and pulled away a little, keeping a gentle hand on his face, the other around his back. “I read that damn letter maybe a hundred times. And every time it broke my heart to think we’d parted ways in such an ugly way.”

Bennett pressed closer, “I’m sorry.”

“As am I,” said Barnum, holding him close, “Charity and I are together, but we are more friends than lovers by this point.” He chuckled, “She knows about us.”

And here Bennett pulled away, eyes wide. “What?”

For a moment worry tightened in Barnum’s eyes, “She knew from the beginning. I should have just told you that. I know, I’m sorry. I just assumed you were happy with our arrangement and I was a little worried how you would react to someone knowing about it.”

Bennett breathed once, twice, then slid his hand up to his cheek, “I would have dragged you to my bed and had my way with you until neither of us could have walked again.”

Barnum swallowed, his pupils dilating and breath suddenly short, “Would that still be the case?”

As answer, Bennett pulled him down and kissed him.


End file.
